


Void

by saian7



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Horror, M/M, Masturbation, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saian7/pseuds/saian7
Summary: Read my first ever, bug-filled bullshit story, please.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not English native speaker, didn't show this to anyone because I'm paranoid as fuck.

Prowl was starving because his last meal was three days ago. Or four days ago? With his mind controlled by Bombshell it was hard to keep track of time. 

Rage coiled in his empty tank. They denied HIM of all the people present in the Autobot camp, he was the only one to go hungry that night. He was late to a energon dispenser queue and when it was his turn for his ration the energon feeder ran out dry. The mech in charge refused to crack open a new carnister for Prowl alone, telling him to wait till morning.  
Prowl knew better than to complain loudly about it and make fuss, because the Autobots were leery of him. Instead, he retreated to the wall in a dour mood and attempted to plan things ahead just to live through the long night.

Hunger made thinking difficult as his empty tank begged for his attention. The Autobot reached to his subspace in search for a snack bar. Right. He had eaten it an hour ago, but his tank felt just as empty as before.  
He noticed a trace of pink on the ground. It was a shiny piece of plastic, but from that moment on his gaze kept darting around it.  
Vexed, Prowl leaned back the camp wall. The sunset was beautiful but he did not care. Instead, he huddled trying to ignore hunger and distant ache in his internals. 

It was the worst feeling. The first time he combined felt like a knife tore through him making him go blind. Whatever calm darkness Devastator had to offer was long gone. Deep, visceral pain ebbed long after the separation, leaving Prowl covered in cold sweat, clutching at his abdomen. More like a t-cog matter than anything else. He remembered Constructicons who were in far better shape than him, sparkly optics and grins plastered over their flushed faces, like they have just had the time of their life. Prowl could sense the hot blast radiating from their fans, the air sopping with their excitement. He winced at the sudden prickling sensation in his nasal cavity then heaved and produced a dense clot from his nose. His vision swam.

The tumoltuous feeling in his guts began to rise and it finally escaped from his mouth in a form of yellow fumes. Startled, he choked and began thrashing. He soon could not see anything, but his very own scream rung in his audios. Then, in his fading awareness his mind played at him a movie about Tumbler, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Impactor Ultra Magnus and Springer. He was dying and he welcomed this fact with a twinge of disappointment.


	2. Colors

Vast Devastator's mindscape was pitch-black void. It's always been like this but this time there was an orange spotlight in the middle of it. Inside, basking in the orange glow hovered a figure completely bound by clawed tentacles. 

Motionless, lifeless and gray. 

Suddenly, something in the air stirred and the tentacles desintegrated, releasing Prowl onto the ground. As the last bits of the tendrils disappeared, the spotlight changed from orange to gray.

Hitting the ground freed a cloud of small chunks of photography film which danced around Prowl's laclustre frame. Upon closer inspection, the images inside them could be seen flickering and changing. They danced and swirled like specks of ash around the fire.

Prowl's unmoving eyes registered the pictures od people he knew as they flew past him making grief swell inside his chest, grief so quiet, gray and hopeless just as signal noise of a TV screen. Untill one image made the swelling bubble of this sorrow pop.

”Spike Witwicky”

This name spoken in voiceless whisper shook the mindscape like a thunder. Witwicky's designation awoke green and purple spotlights that flew towards Prowl. Foreign hands were catching the moving pictures with care and inspecting them. Voices of awe filled the air.

One of the Constructicons glided towards him then reached for him with a smile and uncanny gentleness.

”You've fought so long” whispered Bonecrusher ”and worked so hard” he addeed ”You're so smart and brave. We will be together now”. 

But the Autobot did not hear him. A single tear ran down Prowl's cheek.  
”Why didn't he notice?”  
”Huh...?”  
Just as Bonecrusher finished talking the ground under the Autobot's back flashed a giant red visor.

”BONECRUSHER DON'T-” Hook reached for his fellow Constructicon but it was too late.

Hopeless eyes caught sight of Bonecrusher and Prowl seemingly impotent hands suddenly clawed into the green arm. Bonecrusher choked and plunged towards Prowl. Other Constructicons tried to free their companion but soon found themselves trapped, screaming and wailing in terror. Their frames were torn and mangled, squeezed together into a small energon cube which was then caught by Prowl. Angrily, he caught it with his teeth, mashed and swallowed it. His eyes shone red.

”Yes. We will be together now and the day I leave will mark your demise.”

Was it a dream?  
Or was it...a memory?


	3. Caught

A moment later he wasn't dying anymore.

He was surrounded by them, they were so close the panic gnawed at his already weakened, trembling spark. Instinct dictated him to flee, yet the body disobeyed him. They were getting closer and closer, talking to him, touching him with their hands. He let out a raw croak from his mouth and tugged, but they didn't budge.   
After a while he stopped struggling and went taunt. Unexpectingly, he heard their voices but couldn't make sense of what they were saying. 

They were cooing at him.

Strong arms eased him into sitting position. The light of a small torch entered his optics, nose and mouth. A heavy hand palmed his abdomen and it made him squirm at the sharp jab, then withdrew quickly. When the noise in front of his optics dispersed a bit, he saw the surgeon carefully pinching Prowl's lower abdomen. 

One of them started wiping Prowl's face clean. The tactician recoiled at the gesture, but after a tense moment he surrendered and watched the face of the Constructicon. He recognized the expression as concern. The rest of them wore the same worried look on their faces and he realized that he was the source of it, which seemed an exotic discovery itself. 

The thought threw him off guard so he didn't noticed the surgeon kneeling between his legs. His senses returned to him and he wanted to bolt with newly found energy, but the Constructicon held him down and reached for Prowl's chest. The tactician grasped the green arm impotently as his knees rose up towards his chest. The medic sighed, looked up at his comrades, who released Prowl and stood back to them, sheltering Prowl from the sight of other Autobots. Not that Prowl's fellow Autobots cared to look; the camp was in total disarray.

"I need to take a look at you" Hook released set of tools from his fingertips. "Let me in. Please."

Prowl fought the fear. His hands were too weak and vision too blurry. He was now powerless and vulnerable, exposed and helpless. For a moment, he felt that he was chained in the Decepticon pen again, energon dripping from his mouth, Hook screaming and spitting blood before him the vision disappeared in a split second. 

The Decepticon medic waited in silence. His scuffed visor shone brightly.


	4. Burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back to posting. Dialogues are hard!

Prowl wanted an Autobot medic to examine him but juding from the state the Autobot camp was in, he was not getting medical attention soon. His grip on the green arm tightened but he didn't look down imagining that they would attack at the merest sing of weakening on his part.

His worries proved to be unnecessary when the medic began working on him diligently with efficient motions and care. Prowl didn't attempt to stop him, but his hand never left Decepticon's arm touching the insides of his chest. The Medic grunted several times, when Prowl's chestplate tried to close involuntary on his hand that was probling inside, but otherwise said nothing. Hook was being very patient with him, the tactican noted to himself with a sudden rush of embarrasment. 

Finally, Hook lifted his open palms in front of Prowl's eyes and then slowly lowered them. The Medic was vary of him and Prowl remembered why. The thought managed to improve Prowl's mood a little.

"How is he?" The remaining Constructicons turned to look back at them "You look like a ghost, Prowl. You too Hook." The medic indeed looked slightly unwell, somehow worn off by the brief encounter with his patient.

"His spark casing is not damaged, he's just experienced a lot of pain." The Autobot's spark casing looked slightly burnt, but ointment was applied to the wounds and the repair nanites were already at work.

"Prowl's a victim of a widespread attack." Mixmaster said glancing at his phone "There are pictures of Decepticons, Autobots and Nails. Apparently, even Starscream was a target, so yeah, not sure who stood behind this. It keeps on updating. The medics are investigating the case."

"Huh. I didn't get a single message" grunted Hook.

Prowl had already knew who had done this to him, but remained silent.  
"Why don't you go and help the other medics to figure it out?" he muttered when he regained control over his vocalizer.

"Well, will they let me? I doubt so."

"Hey Prowl, your health is more important right now" Mixmaster butted in. "Do you need any painkillers?"

"No." barked Prowl, suddenly vary of them again. His abdomen and chest ached in protest.  
"Let Mixmaster know if you change your mind. This attack shook you pretty damn hard. You see, it's easy to stop pain when it hurst a little. The stronger the pain grows the more difficult it is to put a halt to it."

"I'm fine."

"Very well. And just for the record-" answered Mixmaster, not quite believing him. "-do not attempt to transform or combine. Your joints need to recover.” he paused then dared to ask.

"Would you like something to drink?"


	5. Short night

The night was swiftly approaching. There was no doubt they wanted to have Prowl close after today's events. On their way to the trailer Prowl had started to shiver so violently it made parts of his armour rattle. His limbs felt cold so did the insides of his mouth. Hook made a comment about temperature drop connected to blood loss and urged the Autobot to drink pre-heated energon. Now, he was trapped between Long Haul and Scavanger, their thights and arms pressing to Prowl's shaking sides. Typically of the Constructicons, they kicked out a weaker mech who was occupying one of the trailers and they settled inside, squeezing and hunching at the small table in the middle.  


Prowl stayed silent for a long while. He drank and with each gulp he swallowed clots that detatched themselves from his palate, breaking crusts around his mouth, trying to shake off the tender, raw feeling off his entire head that reminded him that he had a body. The Autobot sat there forcefully stopping himself from whimpering, searching desperately for some balance within himself to numb the relentless abdominal ache, praying the painkiller he had taken covertly would kick in soon. Prowl shook his head to clear it and blinked rapidly. The worst thing was that it occurred to him that there were more body orifices he had bled from and he wished he could shed this body away.

The empty cube was carefully plucked from Prowl's fingers and patiently swapped with a full one. No one commented at Prowl's occasional shudders. Some time later his head cleared enough to ponder at his current predicament. Mercifully, Constructicons appeared too tired to chat with him or one another. They leaned back grunting and humming, legs spread. One of them dozed off, face hidden in his gestaltmate's arm. Despite their well-feigned relaxed poses Prowl felt he was being closely surveyed.  


Prowl's thighs warmed in places where Constructicons pressed to him and he definitely should have been freaked out by such closeness. But the Autobot somehow felt like it would be okay to sit with them together like this.  
Opposite the table sat Bonecrusher who then hunched over the small table. He could feel Prowl gathering himself for something so he took Prowl's palm and covered it with his own ones. The Autobot's resistance aborted the moment he realized the Constructicon was talking in hand.

>>Use Mixmaster's painkillers next time. They are way better than the one you took.<<

Red gaze focused on him patiently. The hands continued to speak more forcefully this time.

>>We did not said it out loud...<< Bonecrusher paused to look at Prowl even closely.

>>...but your body is one big wound.<<  
>>we know<<  
>>because we survived this state.<<

>>Survived?<< asked Prowl, as if checking his own understanding of the gesture.

“Stop scaring him, you fool.” muttered Hook, without moving an inch. There was a small sparkle behind his dimmed visor. “We have all the resources and the knowledge to help you, Prowl.”

 

Ignoring Hook, Bonecrusher spoke hastily as spotted far too quickly approaching dawn.

>>Stay with us.<<  
>>Please.<<


	6. Fires

He did not stay with them yet they still followed him. When they were staring at the fake morning sky, he slipped out like a ghost, silent, unsubstantial, haunted. Enough of shivering between these thugs. Enough of that! Shafts of the light pierced him through like a call to action...but he couldn't forget those parted cracked lips and red visors looking at him.

They were with him when the ground rocked and the Necrotitan rose.  
Every time he saw Soundwave's back he remembered anew the things that were done to him, and hatred kept filling his spark. For a moment he could forget it all because it was nice seeing Bumblebee on his feet again. Until he saw an Autobot badge on Megatron's chest and his face smoothed out, blank like a canvas. Neither Prowl nor the Constructicons were there when the fate unfolded. But he knew what it meant and a feeling of loss surrounded him cold and all-consuming.

He considered Bumblebee to be a needle in his moral compass, always pointing to the right direction. Black hole's void swallowed it, unfortunately.

Post-battle Cybertron raged with fires. But no one would be preoccupied by this fire, no one bothered to smother it because all the mechs were interested in was victory celebration. Among the reunions and tears of joy flames grew bigger and bigger until they reached their peak and turned into black smoke.

No one cared and neither did Prowl when he ran away from the Autobot-Decepticon coalescence, couldn't stomach the view of Optimus Prime and Megatron standing together with red badges on their chests. He himself was not sure was it sickness or hunger he was experiencing or was it something else. Illuminated by the fire he ran in his robot mode because transforming felt like opening his wounds again. Ventilators were laboring as he inhaled more of this smoke and embers with every step he took. And by the look of his clouded optics, some would swear he inhaled a bit of night's darkness as well.  


Finally, he stopped at the edge of an abyss, the look of his face hollow, dissatisfied and lost in thought.


	7. Loveless

Their recent combining constituted a tacit alliance of the Autobot and the Constructicons, but the green mechs felt like it needed real life seal. So they followed Prowl hoping for a formal acknowledgement, right there right now, not caring how battle-weary he was.

"I'm worried about him" said Hook to his companions. "Because he's much smaller than us. He needs a bath in a CR chamber and days of rest."

"Doesn't look that bad to me" said Long Haul "He's out of our sight again. Runs around pretty fast."

"That's because he still got this metadrenaline pumping in him but the moment it drops down Prowl may be completely undone... There he is."

They stood at a fair distance from Prowl when suddenly Scavenger, the most juvenile of them all, jumped to the front and offered Prowl an ornate glass vessel with pink liquid inside. Prowl's eyes glossed over it, he then he took it, his mind a thousand miles away and...drank its contents. Then, he absentmindedly tossed the empty caster across his shoulder so it fell down the abyss.

The cruet disappeared in the darkness so deep that neither of them could hear the glass break.

Constructions looked baffled. "I told you that's not the right moment" hissed Hook at disappointed Scavenger.

"He most certainly didn't mean it" added Long Haul in comforting tone. "Just look at him. You were right Hook, I think he doesn't feel okay..." 

At that comment Prowl summoned his strength and snapped out of his inertia, his optics regaining that icy, piercing gaze that made Constructicons' sparks tremble. A soft, tired laugh rang in the air like a sorrowful melody; he turned his face that the darkness concealed it. 

“Are you sure that's what you want?” he asked quietly. His voice gave away nothing, his optics even less.  


“We think you're the one who's unsure.”

After all of this misery...it was nice of them that they though he had a choice when really Prowl himself knew there was no choice at all. They had no choice either. When confused he always turned to the clinical and analytical side of things. A building team ready for his command and the sheer power of Devastator he truly felt just recently when he combined for the second time in the mids of the battle. Squandering such resources would be a sin. Prowl partially explained to himself that his other feelings should not cloud his judgement. He smiled, full of secrets and sadness.

“Not anymore.” His voice was laden with regret. The Constructicons should have been pleased how easily he accepted their offer. No one smiled.

“I want it done the Autobot way.”

There were five of them but they found Prowl eerily dangerous. Standing proud, he narrowed his optics and elegantly inclined his head, then made Hook kneel down to him with just his intense gaze resulting in a passionless, flat and fearful kiss planted on Prowl's mouth corner. A loveless kiss during which Prowl's faceplate was basking in red light of Hook's visor. They followed their medic one after one.

The last mech, Bonecrusher, knelt before Prowl slower than the rest of them. He hesitated, then took Prowl's hand fumbling a little to kiss it. He then embraced Prowl with his one arm, held him close and pecked the corner of Prowl's mouth. Prowl's optics grew wide in surprise edging on anger that subsided quickly because suddenly, he saw emotion Bonecrusher was holding back. The Constructicon had almost teary-eyed look on his face. That...was unusual. During his career the Autobot officer had seen indifference, fear and annoyance... but not this. His surprise was not for long though. When Bonecrusher finally let him go, the distant cold was back into Prowl's eyes.

To the Constructicons that was certainly a surprising but valid union seal nonetheless, so when the petrifying feeling passed, Constructicons concluded that their union is now official and Prowl is their boss forever. With their mood uplifted, they trotted behind Prowl chatting happily. Well, most of them.

"Hook, my man, why do you have such a sour look on your face?" muttered Bonecrusher stifling a giggle "I know Prowl is not that desirable by our standards, but he's, you know, a decent looking mech. No need to wince like that old pal.” 

”Besides, that kiss was purely symbolic, right?" Added Mixmaster, winking.

"It's not the kiss that was so unpleasant" growled Hook under his breath reliving a painful memory. "Don't you remember?"

"Nope...? I wasn't there?" shrugged Bonecrusher trying to egg on Hook to tell the story. It proved to be easier than he had thought.

"Alright. So back when we were still in the Decepticon Pen..."


	8. Hook's story Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My belated thanks to all who commented! I have the general outline consisting of several small chapters written already but I didn't write them in the correct order. I have to write the remaining scenes that I want to include in the fic but they are difficult to me and that's why it takes so long to update.

They were not happy when they first saw their next Sixth.  
Constructicons were still licking their wounds when Soundwave assigned them a new project. Their necks hurt already and they had beginnings of a headache creeping in just by looking at the black and white Autobot standing in the middle of the room. Hook hauled himself up from the couch the Constructicons were occupying and unhurriedly approached the mech to pat his shoulder. The Autobot staggered under the heavy hand on him which elicited a contemptuous purr and a wheeze coming from the couch's direction.

“You brought us a shinie.” 

They were expecting anyone, but not...him.

“He has the same energon and spark type as you and Lord Megatron. You're all compatible.”

Hook didn't respond. Instead, he slowly grabbed Autobot's jaw to open it. He considered Prowl like a farmer shopping for cattle, unimpressed and bored.

“He is unfit” he mocked finally.

“Yes, until you modify him according to the plan” all mechs present in the room bristled when Bombshell emerged from the shadow. 

Constructicons roused from their position and swaggered nonchalantly as if they too wanted to get a better look at Prowl's frame. In reality, under the visors their optics were glued to Bombshell. They knew the bug was able to control every movement, every word the Autobot was saying and that it was eerie to have so much power over someone else's body. 

“Thank you for bringing the Autobot to us. From now on we know what to do. You may leave.” Mixmaster forced himself to say pleasantries curling his lip in disgust and laid Prowl on the medical slab. The day before Soundwave had explained to the combiner team that their new companion was merely a temporary replacement to check whether Devastator would accept a new component and how the combining would alter the psyche of a new unit before letting Lord Megatron safely take its place. They were in the middle of hooking Prowl up to the medical equipment when Scavenger felt a small hand rubbing the underside of his thigh. He swatted the hand away and growled through his clenched teeth turning towards the dark corner.

“My buddy told you to l e a v e.”

“Well” came the reply “I saw you exposed him... you're up to some fun.”

“I swabbed the Autobot for STDs, you retard. Wouldn't touch that with a stick.” 

It was bold to address Bombshell this way but this time it worked, fourtunately. The buildmechs gave amused clicks and snorts glancing at each other in disbelief, as if saying “Who told you I want to fuck that?”, “Are you for real?” and “You need to reconsider your life choices” before turning back to the patient on the table. With Bombshell out of the room they were off to a good start.


	9. Hook's story - Part two

Every few days he returned to the Decepticon Pen willed by Bombshell's mind control. Every time he laid still on the slab, unchained. He would lay completely motionless waiting for nothing, letting his body be altered and picked apart. Appearing as if in a dream, forgetting even his own name. Sometimes though when his name was uttered his shackled mind would notice that they were talking about him. And he would listen...

* * * * *

Scavenger stood in the doorway watching his gestaltmate consumed by work. All Constructicons helped, but Hook was the one who was working on Prowl's modifications. The entire operation was delicate and at several points the surgeon had to stop and let Bombshell return Prowl to the Autobots, even if it meant undoing his own work and starting over again later. So far, most of the procedures weren't invasive but today was a milestone.

The Excavator swallowed uncomfortably at the characteristic metallic sound of many thin legs trotting on the ground. Chills ran down his spine but he didn't move an inch because he remembered that behind closed doors, in the intimacy of their shared alcove Hook besought the Constructicons to never leave him alone with the Insecticon. And today Soundwave wasn't in the base with them.  
Hook must have heard the intruder coming as his wide green back straightened, servos wrist-deep into Prowl's open chest.

>What the fuck does he want now?< thought Hook, nervously tightening his jaw and slowly pulling his hands away from Prowl. So far Bombshell's company was anything but helpful. The Insecticon would just walk casually to him to see “how things are going” and to give Hook “his combiner expertise”. The surgeon suspected that Bombshell's mind control technique was very energy-taxing that's why the bug never operated on Prowl with his own servos.  
>Probably up to some fucked up shit.< No, thank you, Hook could read on his own, and the supposed aid was merely an opportunity for Bombshell's sick little power games.

Slam! Hook's optics widened in shock when a small hand landed on his aft hard enough to sting. The Constructicon froze swallowing a gasp, still gripping surgical tools.

“Y-you measly worm!” growled Scavanger but it came out very lame. Something repulsive glinted in Insecticon's optics and he was next to the Excavator in a split of second.

“Go” the bug drawled “Go, and console your humilitated friend” and suddenly, Hook found himself in Scavanger's embrace. Not thinking much he dropped his tools, cupped Scavanger's face and kissed his sweaty cheek, other hand travelling on his partner's hot and slippery neck to Bombshell's great delight.

“Gotcha!” Hook hissed in triumph as Scavanger instantly sagged in his arms, trembling as panicky strain left him. “We are not your playthings anymore, Bombshell!” he shouted loudly, although his own spark was hammering, and rubbed the remainings of the nanite between his fingers “Get the fuck out of my operating room!”

“It-s-s crawling under my helmet-t-t...k-kill it!” he felt shuddering breath on his audio edging on hysteria.

“No. He cannot control more than two at the same time” said Hook and glanced around the room. Bombshell did as the Surgeon said.

“Go call the others. Now.” Hook squeezed Scavanger's arm.

It wasn't Insecticon's last word for today, he thought to himself grimly.


	10. Hook's story Part 3

“Hook, my man” his smile was a flash of teeth under the mask, nothing pleasant behind it.

“Ah there you are, Bombshell” responded Hook, acid in the words. “Good to see you.”

“Say what?”

“Good to see you so that you can explain to me...this” the Surgeon gestured towards his cabinet, which was empty.

“So?” snorted the Insecticon in amusement. It was cut short when he felt a prick of pain on his throat.

“I doubt you understand the magnitude of the situation, maggot.” Long Haul's voice was soft and slow on Bombshell's audio. “My friend Mixmaster prepared several doses of painkillers for our... guest”. He gestured towards Prowl whose chest was split in half and then the grabbed the drip. “He needs to replace the bag. Now, before the Autobot wakes up.”

The last drop of sedative sluiced down the bag hooked to Prowl's arm... and it started. Slowly, the Autobot began to fidget, fingers tightening and relaxing and ventilators picked up their pace. Bombshell's control on the mech was eerily powerful with the exception of inborn reflexes which began to show up despite his mental grip on Prowl. 

“I don't know where your stuff is, doctor.” He said patiently as if he didn't hear the low rumble vibrating in Autobot's rigid jaw growing insistent and edging on panic. Prowl's optics were darting around the room and there was a flare of mortal terror inside of them, his frame was vibrating slightly from internal pain and yet he held almost completely still. The Insecticon should have been a little bit more careful together with five Constructicons currently in the Black Room, a hand squeezing his throat and Soundwave present in the establishment again. But he was still playing his little game. Why should he stop when Autobot's delicious distress was more visible now? The Insecticon muted the Autobot yet the sputtering the tormented victim emitted somehow found a way to escape, making the sound even more disturbing. Guttural growls and mewls and the moans of mentally handicapped were coming from Prowl's mouth, again and again, and when he seemed to lose consciousness and vitality the garbled moans returned in waves, louder and more desperate.

“Make him shut up!” shouted someone across the other side of the base.

Hook was livid. “I can't continue! Wonder if you're even loyal to the cause when you're sabotaging my work like this!”

“Look, he's under my control, he won't do anything unless I want him to. He's safe.” Bleated Bombshell watching bloody bubbles roll down the Autobot's chin but his optics bore a sickening gleam. Suddenly, The Insecticon produced a strangled sound and bent his body in the air, trembling and gasping. Long Haul gave a surprised yelp of disgust and unintentionally squeezed Insecticon's throat far too hard, then, shocked, he dropped the limp body on the ground.

Throat cables pressurizing, Prowl struggled to keep himself as present as he could and then he lunged as far as the binding would allow him and sank his teeth in Surgeon's lipplates, then fell back to the slab engulfed by shouting, darkness and hot blood spilling on his face, fading away into unconsciousness.

***  
“We found the anesthetics in Bombshell's quarters. Go figure.”

“Damn, I'm glad the maggot is gone.”

Mixmaster watched Prowl's face as Hook was telling the story. His features had a calm look, his composure was cool, his body moved with elegance in a manner that avoided wasting energy, his pace didn't change for a moment. He appeared as if he wasn't listening. When confronted Prowl told them he hadn't remember any of that.

Then, belatedly, the Cement Mixer realized something that happened before their second merge. When they stood in front of the Necrotitan and Prowl was going crazy with rage but through Devastator's filter the situation looked different. It was enriched with the flavor of Prowl's point of view, so to speak. They had watched without realizing Prowl's anger hid fear, sadness and a feeling of being defiled. How he howled bleeding with distress, meeting indifferent optics no one offered comfort nor acknowledged his suffering. Mixmaster understood that after their second combining but dared not to share this revelation. Prowl had shouted wracked by those powerful emotions, he lashed out at Soundwave until it was cut short by one sentence “Stop being unreasonable” coming from Bumblebee. 

Mixmaster remembered a distinct look on Prowl's face the moment the realization struck that in fact no one cared how violated he felt and an emotional shutdown that followed. Frankly, the timing of such outburst couldn't be worse. Being presentable and saving face in front of his troops were higher priority. It was the moment the Tactican decided not to speak of his horror ever again and locked it inside his body somewhere, stuffed it so he could carry on. He overrode his own fears, violated his still fresh emotional wounds just to get what was objectively the most lucrative position, ensuring his own survival. If asked he would still say it was the right choice to join them. Back then, in front of the Necrotitan it should be a time for Constructicons to step up and offer genuine comfort because long time ago, they too were mind controlled and forced to do things they didn't want to do merely for Bombshell's amusement, how Decepticon High Command pretended not to know about Insecticon's exploits, but they were not aware... and now it was too late because Prowl wasn't seeking comfort or understanding from anyone. They wasted an opportunity to earn some of his trust but surely there must be something to be done to improve the situation.

Out of a sudden, Mixmaster shushed other Constructicons and without a warning started to apologize to Prowl for the terror and misery the Autobot had to endure which was caused directly and indirectly by them. It felt earnest and natural to do. They joined him and apologized in unison without trying to justify their actions, or putting themselves in better light because they understood it all was not about them – it was about Prowl and that they promised to provide anything he will need from them to amend the Autobot's current situation.

The Tactician was listening wordlessly and allowed their brief, comforting touches on his arms. Prowl said nothing but his optics betrayed him... Suddenly, Mixmaster desperately wanted to hug Prowl yet stuffed the inclination down deep. No, not yet. No, he wasn't ready. It wasn't the right moment and Mixmaster had to control himself despite the twinge in his spark.

They returned to walking and Prowl moved differently this time, hands folded on his chest, fingertips idly brushing his arms. Self-soothing. It worked, thought Mixmaster to himself. Sadly it wasn't nearly enough to fix things, but don't worry Prowl, we will help you, we won't leave you on your own. We're here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffering Prowl is the best Prowl, but writing horror is hard. Thank you for the kudos and comments! My VPN sadly doesn't always let me answer your messages on this platform.


	11. Mist and shadows

That year's Lost Light Festival had a particular ghastly feel to it. After the fires were extinguished there was thick smog lingering over the battlefield like a measly, ugly sunset in the middle of the day. The iridescent lights that were an indispensable part of the holiday appeared dim and weak, wrapped by almost impenetrable veil of smoke hanging in the air. Cold, misty air tumbled though the place, flogging mechs and buildings with icy needles.

At the top of the memorial hill drowning in melancholy gathered a small crowd paying their respects to Autobot Bumblebee. Every person present on the hill carried a memorial lantern illuminating their faces and hands. Everyone except Prowl, who did not bring the lantern and stayed behind the fence, separated from the grieving crowd, surrounded only by five hulky frames. It was like all emotion drained out of him.They talked quietly then silence filled the space between them.

Prowl thought of Bumblebee often. The scout was always full of raw life unmarred by the war and it haunted Prowl. He knew there was something Bumblebee kept hidden from him but it was hard to guess so he quit trying. The yellow Autobot would give him those looks that would shake him to the core and Prowl would mask the feeling of shame and inadequacy with a smirk. Beneath the baby blue gaze Prowl would be revealed; his old and bitter, lonely spark.  
He wondered whether Bumblebee saw his end coming. Prowl knew there were two people who witnessed it but he did not want to ask them, he just hoped the death claimed Bee quickly. That was what he needed to believe because otherwise it was too painful to think about. The smoke burned his nose and throat so he wished he had a mask.

What a nice, little coffin, Prowl thought. The symbolical pyre was empty, Prowl knew that the coffin around which the crowd gathered served as an anchor for the mourning friends. Bee wasn't there...but...while his friends gathered around it, Prowl imagined Bumblebee's body laying on the frozen ground, massacred and dirty. This was the reward of one's lifetime effort. That's what the end looks like, with no music or songs, no grand words, no pall dragged across the pavement, no friend's last caress and Prowl's throat tightened painfully.

It was almost dark, earlier than the usual nighttime. The mist thickened visibly so he could no longer see the faces of Optimus, Ironhide, Starscream together with many others so he turned to leave.

“I think you should stay and allow yourself to grieve.” Prowl felt a hand on his shoulder. 

Oh. They remembered their own uncertain sadness that lingered between them after they heard of Scrapper's assassination. When they saw and touched his body they truly realized that he passed away. For a long time they didn't want to bury him until they combined for the last time and saw void in Scrapper's place they finally let him go. Long Haul believed that only because they bade Scrapper last farewell they were ready for Prowl to take Scrapper's place.

“We were not that close.“ Prowl's voice sharpened but nothing showed on his face. He shook off the hand and down he walked the stone steps.

“Um Boss, I think your body temperature has risen. Wait-”

He stepped down the slabs of rock letting himself be engulfed in the smoke. Prowl could live with a low-tier harassment from their peers and occassional acts of violence towards him. Times were tough and he learnt to forgive. He could live with people sneering at him because Prowl never allowed minor things like these get in his way. He could even tolerate a gang of Decepticon thugs, but now they were being infuriating. For most of the time they kept their distance and behaved like a professional trained unit but once they felt they were alone with Prowl it was impossible to make them shut up. He really hated their patronizing tone at times. Why the hell were they worried about him?

Suddenly, bright lights pierced the dark mist and almost blinded him. Long Haul was standing at the foot of the hill, his headlights at full setting and his arms crossed. Under the red scornful visors of five buildmechs Prowl felt his anger waver. The deep disapproval they dished him had a characteristic medical feel. Something was wrong.

“You promised to let us know.”

“My low-grade fever is not exactly a health risk” spat Prowl defensively.

“In your condition it is” the Medic approached the Autobot and extended his left hand, sprayed his palm with a sanitizer then primed his sensor-laden fingers. 

“It could be due to the smog residue in my vents for all I care.”

”So you should get yourself a mask like ours.” On the back of the hand resurfaced a small blue and sturdy, scuffed screen. The Medic tapped Prowl's chin with one finger, gently urging the Autobot to open the mouth. “We've waited patiently to talk to you, but you are always so busy. It is time someone sat you down and talked about post-combining hygiene.”

They mean no harm, he told himself repeatedly as he found them looking at him intensely. The same look he caught Constructicons were giving him most of the time since their last combining. The look of worry that would confuse him and unnerve him at the same time. Prowl was not used to being fussed over. 

“Come on Boss, no one's watching” said the Medic in a softer tone at Prowl's visible unease, then the finger was reluctantly allowed inside Prowl's soft and too hot mouth. For a brief moment Prowl wondered how erotic such gesture would have been under different circumstances before he violently pushed the thought aside. Hook's hand was functioning as a medical device. And nothing more. While Constructicons were leaning over Hook to study the results too, Prowl realized worriedly that they were not truly angry with him.

“I'm not delicate” he insisted a little too hard, fidgeting under the odd silence.

“No,” drawled Long Haul “You're not.”

Prowl wasn't sure what to make of that reply.

“We need to talk, Prowl. We really need to talk.”


	12. Mist and shadows part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to point out my mistakes if you spot them! I'll be grateful.

“Why do you wall yourself away from us?”

Long Haul gave a tiny snort. What a stupid question. Why should an Autobot officer suddenly divulge his intimate health details to people who clearly are not his medics and who modified his frame without his consent. Prowl stood with his arms crossed and a slight frown on his face but managing to look as composed as ever. Damn, he was good at hiding things. Even a mech's completely masked face would be more expressive. Long Haul had suspected that Prowl had procedures done to his face so that it appeared smooth at all times until he saw the Tactician snarling commands during the battle which blew apart his theory.

“I do not wish to talk about this in public. I want to postpone the conversation.”

Wow Hook, why is privacy suddenly such a strange concept, you dumbass? We're not on a battlefield and he's not injured. Even though they all worried about Prowl's health the situation was not exactly urgent. Long Haul wanted to tell Hook that but he hated quarreling with the medic who would obviously manage to win the argument in a sneaky way. Hook was smarter than him ad he knew it. The Medic never listened to him, anyway. He preferred to keep quiet and watch his new leader argue with Hook.   
When agitated, Hook's temper would be caught in a loop. They knew this about him and would help him manage that. But Prowl obviously didn't know it yet and his anger and unease began to build up. His emotions started to show and the Tactician was visibly fidgeting in physical discomfort.

“Why are you still shy after all that happened to you?” Hook blurted in frustration.

That made Long Haul roll his optics. “Mix.” He groaned at the Cement-Mixer who approached Hook and gave him a slap in the face. The medic clenched his teeth and stormed out of their sight in shame.

“Sorry about that” apologized Mixmaster to Prowl, watching Scavanger run after Hook.

Long Haul observed as Mixmaster was telling Prowl something. The Chemist was talking quietly so Long Haul couldn't neither hear not recognize words that Mixmaster was forming behind his mask but they mellowed Prowl out. After some gentle coaxing, Prowl whispered something to Mixmaster's audio which elicited a scandalized shout from him. “You haven't yet? Boss, please, I will assist you.” Long Haul saw Mixmaster draw Prowl by his side, wrapping thick, green arm around his shoulders and lead Prowl somewhere into the dense mist out of the sight of remaining Constructicons. 

Bonecrusher's visor narrowed and he was stroking his chin thinking intensely. The image made Long Haul snicker.

“What?” barked the Bulldozer raising an optic ridge.

“Nothing. I'm curious what Mixmaster told Prowl.”

“I think it's the approach what matters here.” Bonecrusher glanced away from him focusing on the smelly smoke around him. “Gentle but insistent.”

“Wow” drawled Long Haul giving him a leer which faded after he received a sharp kick in his shin. “Ow! Crusher, you retard!”

“Stuff it!”

After what seemed like eternity the entire gestalt team met again, reappearing from the smoke. Long Haul witnessed Hook's sour apology and how Prowl waved a weary hand at him in a gesture of forgiveness. Later, when they were on their way to a shuttle to Luna 2, he asked the Chemist about the source of Prowl's discomfort.

“He was blocked. Had a clot in his urethra.”   
Long Haul hissed in sympathy at the comment.

“Hope he has no more health complications than this and a few protoform gashes. I hope he will allow himself to have some downtime on Luna 2." He added "I had to told him... everything.”

“For real?” Long Haul frowned, disbelieving. “You told him everything what's gonna happen to him?”

“I did. He doesn't seem afraid. Just...kinda resigned to his fate. I don't like that... Wait...Where is he again?”

*****

He heard bickering in the dark and he sprung towards the two fighting mechs, imagining the thing he always imagined when he felt weak, rattled and in doubt. Memories of Spike Witwicky on Scrapper's smoking corpse would reignite his will and a wave of anger swept through him as he lunged at the fighting mechs.  
But the memory morphed into something else. Into an image of Bumblebee's mouth slack and hanging half open. First frost gluing his frame to the ground. And the only moving thing was a reflection of the sky with clouds gliding across his dark optic lenses. The fire in Prowl's chest turned into a lightbulb with a moth on it's back, thrashing on the ground underneath it.   
It was an easy task to capture the troublemakers. Like a seasoned hunter, ignoring the mechs cursing and spitting underneath him, Prowl focused his optics watching the smoke, and suddenly, he saw six red visors. He blinked. No, not six. Five.  
He was imagining things. It was the fragging smog and his fever. His sensors picked up cold gust of wind which, unfortunately, didn't disperse the mist. 

Instead, it merely made the smoke pathetically tumble in place.

*****

His head was fuzzy and his optic shutters were very heavy. The sound of his name was slowly coming through to his audios. The voice appeared as if coming from underwater but it grew stronger and clearer with each second. Finally, he understood what the utterance meant and he raised his arms and a cup of hot energon was gently placed in his hands. He realized he was currently on board the shuttle to Luna 2 to prepare for the Megatron's trial. The Constructicons managed to convince everyone that their expert building knowledge and skills will be needed so they got to travel with Prowl. Ugh. The back of his head began to thud with pain.

Prowl accepted the cup from Mixmaster but instead of drinking it straight away he placed a small device inside, despite pained look in Mixmasters optics. After a green diode lit up he proceeded to drink. As the time passed and Prowl felt more like himself his suspiction grew. Promises and vows aside, sometimes it was rational to be careful.

“You used our medical assistance and food before and you still don't trust us.” Mixmaster told him with genuine disappointment.

Oh, about that fact... Prowl felt very uncomfortable. The moment he had entered that trailer shivering from blood loss made his internals twist and cringe. That's how he remembered that night:

_Trying to gather his thoughts, with disdain that he was being very vulnerable while five pairs of red optics focused on him. He hated the idea, he hated that he took their offer to sit with them in their trailer and devour energon presented to him. Prowl guzzled the contents of cubes, making lots of breathy and gulping noises. Good thing that the trailer was poorly lit, so that the Constructicons couldn't see his face flushed with embarrassment. He drank so much, everything he was given to but he still hadn't been sated yet. He pressed his lips together and swallowed._

_"He needs more."_

_The statement worked as a command because all five Constructicons emptied their subspaces of all the energon goods they carried with. A pure fest of dried and stale energon candy and drinks laid in front of Prowl. He began to eat, this time slowly in a more dignified manner, yet his gaze was fixed on the table beneath him. The others were quiet the whole time. After a while he brought himself to look a them.  
They were all sitting legs open wide, backs hunched, except Scavanger who dozed off, his head on Longhaul's arm. Suppressed satisfaction lingered on their worn mugs, thought they did not dare to smile or chuckle poorly pretending to be asleep. Only the medic seemed stern._

His mind provided a valid explanation; that night at the Autobot camp, during killswitch activation he was fighting for his dear life. In Prowl's head, taking energon from Constructicons was justified in such severe circumstances. He assessed that in his vulnerable state he did the best thing to ensure his own survival. And the incident after the funeral...Ugh...The mere memory of it made him feel queasy. Better not think about it yet.

“Don't give me that look, Mixmaster” the Autobot spoke harshly. “I accepted the ointment you gave me.” He should be angry at Mixmaster for berating him in public (the 'public' consisted of four bots sitting at the back of the shuttle doing their thing, but still). The concern the cement-mixer was projecting on Prowl threw him off guard.

“But you didn't even crack the bottle open!” interrupted Mixmaster“I can smell you didn't. You got second opinion from your Autobot medics. I hoped it would clear up all misunderstandings.”

Prowl tensed his lips. Despite the chaos and long queues to medbay he managed to briefly see Ratchet for a quick check up. The old medic advised Prowl to come back to Hook who had better knowledge about Prowl's condition. The Autobot knew it wasn't their decision to modify his body and force him to become Devastator but he couldn't help the resentment that had burrowed itself in his brain module.

“I'm feeling better. Should my health deteriorate, I will ask for your help” The Tactician nodded and closed his optics again. The pain that was radiating in waves from the back of his head was slowly turning into grogginess.

“The point is to not let it happen. Are you sleeping okay, boss?”

“Well enough” he lied. He was really growing tired of being stared at. Prowl's optic-shutters were heavy from fatigue. He really wanted some sleep.

If they had realized how ill he was they would have taken him straight to the infirmary.


	13. Drills and aches

After their arrival to Luna 2 they were shown their new quarters. Constructicons groaned collectively: they were supposed to stay in a building which could be described as miserable, so the buildmechs raged and raved in disdain every time they spotted a rusty or mouldy patch on the wall, pathetic graffitti or a stain of an unknown origin. Hook was the most vocal about it and his loud nattering awoke a dull pain in Prowl's temples which triggered a nosebleed. Or was it the other way round? Perhaps changing environment from Cybertron to Luna 2 caused it. Nevertheless, he managed to hide his bloody nose from them when he sneaked to his assigned hab suite. He sat in the dark listening to muted exclamations of five rowdy buildmechs, wondering if he had made a good decision to have neighbouring rooms. His first thought was to settle somewhere far away from them but he concluded that their presence could be useful.

He couldn't sleep which was hardly surprising. But it wasn't the memory of the battle that kept coming back to him with haunting persistence. Two weeks of their presence had... affected him. He used to be recognized for his intellect or his battle computer, or the Parasite - that's how he nicknamed it but no one had ever admired or cared for Prowl quite the way the Constructicons did. There was something different about their abiding admiration which felt like dark night, not exactly the safest thing that beckoned him. No matter how hard he tried to eradicate them from his mind, he wasn't able to. Flashback of their worried faces kept coming back to him. Not just their faces... Memories of the thick finger probing inside his mouth and heavy thighs warming his legs. Basically, everywhere the Constructicons touched him held a memory of them. The Tactician sighed shifting uncomfortably. Right. Best to ignore it.

*****

After they arrived and chose their hab-suite, they weren't surprised but still disappointed that he retreated to his own one and engaged a door lock without saying a word. It was rude the way he ran away from them, but he did look tired like slag too. Still, they were willing to give their boss some space and they left him alone in hopes that he would emerge from his quarters in better mood the next day. But the morning after they did not meet him. He didn't visit the canteen nor was he seen in the corridors or leaving his room. By the end of the second day, they finished refurbishing and cleaning their big shared quarters so they decided to greet him and they found the door locked. They knocked several times but no one answered. Constructicons began loosing their patience. Picking locks or disengaging them manually wasn't difficult, especially the such old locks in this building, but they didn't want Prowl to learn about this particular ability just yet.  
His door was locked. Locked, but also battered. Good. Manufacturing an excuse should be easy.

They wished they had checked on him sooner.

“Boss.”

Prowl's optic shutters opened up and he looked at them confused and questioning.

“Boss!”

“You!” His optics went wide with shock and recognition.

For people who knew him it was fascinating to see his wild sight and next see him regain his usual poise with a speed of light.

“How...?” he asked, voice flat, internally fighting nausea and winning. 

A loud crash followed by cackling made him twitch. Scavanger pulled one of the window shutters trying to flatten it but it came crashing down on him with a rattle. The Constructicons were all over his place, touring over it somewhat critically.

“The door doesn't slide all the way so it doesn't lock. We unjammed it for you.” Mixmaster paused to look around.”Your hab suite looks even worse than how ours did.”

“And the purpose of your visit...?” he said stiffly.

“Two days passed and we didn't see you in the canteen. Figured out we need to meet you. It's kinda strange that you didn't wake up when we were drilling and sanding the wall, you know. I don't know who was in charge of building this but the walls are so lopsided they almost gave Hook anxiety attack, right Hook?”

“Right Scavanger...Tell me Prowl...Why didn't you hear the drilling?” his voice was gentle but insistent.

He narrowed his optics at them. “I was so tired I dropped off.” Then he shoot uptight all of sudden and looked away as if regretting telling them the reason of his absence. Prowl didn't look refreshed by his slumber.

“You dropped off.” Hook repeated. “Figured out that much because you look just as disheveled as before. And you smell even worse.”

“Thank you for your kind reminder” he wished his growl would drown embarrassment. He winced when Hook touched his face and turned his head away from the hand.

“I don't have a fever.”

“Mhm...” they frowned at that. “But you do have scraplet bites all over your face and neck.”  
The Autobot regretted that he hadn't checked the berth because when Scavenger removed the softer padding it was swarming with red mites.

“Man this place is vile.”

The assault of questions ceased as Constructicons became focused on his hab-suite, making disapproving sounds and commenting on bad skills of builders and designers of this establishment. It had also been a great excuse for Prowl to cross the room and sneak away from them to the bathroom.

“You know what Boss, go use our wash-racks.” They said to him when he was fighting with the taps in his small, cramped bathroom. “We renovated our hab suite and it has nice and fresh wash-racks ready for use. It's the best one in this building and you obviously deserve the best things.” The Constructicon called over his shoulder, making room for Prowl to enter their shared quarters. “And don't mind Hook. He's just worried.”

Prowl's lower abdomen felt heavier and tighter than usual when he went to the Constructicons' new quarters. The place has been freshened up, walls smelling of new paint, appliances fixed and scrubbed, bunks and couches fumigated. There was a hologram projector table in the middle of the room humming and cycling warm air. It was on, displaying ongoing projects in the air and glowing warmly. The Autobot recognized blueprints of Luna 2 stadium but the rest of the drawings looked like a typical plumbing network.

“Sorry to leave you like this, I have to go help the others. We want to make your place clean and shiny as soon as it's possible and the faster I go there the faster it will be ready” Scavanger babbled grinning at Prowl “Feel free to get a nice soak in the pool, use our digital console or take a nap. You could stay there but you said yourself you need to recharge alone to rest well, so I gotta go better help cleaning your room, bye.”

A short 'thank you' from Prowl showed how awkward he felt considering the fuss they were making over him. For their new combiner member there was just no way around the attention they were giving him. Accepting it was still difficult.

Prowl stopped as he saw his own reflection for the first time in weeks, startled. He didn't realise how scruffy he had become, the grime that coated his feet, his back slashed and dirty, his paintwork chapped. His face seemed even more stern than before, his mouth a thin line. It was hard to believe that he had received a full frame upgrade over two weeks ago, that's how eroded his plating was.  
He stared at himself some more and scowled at the mirror. Built-wise he was nothing compared to the Constructicons. Well. Time to familiarize himself with his new frame.

Bumblebee wouldn't want to know what Prowl did to keep himself busy during the cleaning. Now Bee was gone and Prowl turned to the old habit he promised Bee he would never try again, he succumbed to it and let go of his thoughts. He decided not to use the pool in favour of the shower. Prowl really liked hot showers, not that anyone would ask, but the reason Prowl liked it because they burnt, so straight away he activated it and went for maximum heat setting on the nozzle.   
The scalding solvent calmed Prowl like nothing in the entire Universe. The droplets burnt him as he ran his fingers on his neck sighing as the gesture bombarded him with relief. But that was merely a beginning. He sensed the small scabs scraplets left on him and he dug his fingers into them and cracked the tiny wounds open. He let his head fall back on the wall, pupils dilated when he was rewarded with heat rush bordering on euphoria. Satisfaction filed his spark when scabs ruptured under his fingertips, encouraged by the feeling he clawed deeper into his protoform and watched, dirt, crusts and small drops of blood swirl in the drain.

After four hours he turned off the shower. Wow. His newest record.  
The euphoric rush resulting from picking his own plating made his frame within hurt less although the surface stung. Prowl dried himself up and came back to Constructicons' main room to sit on the couch. His gaze settled on his datapad laying on the holographic projector which was still on, but Prowl couldn't bring himself to work and instead arranged himself comfortably on the couch, then dozed off.

*****

The awakening was violent and it wasn't the fault of the power drill that was currently on behind the wall, no, his own frame prepared a nasty surprise for him; a cramp burrowed through his abdomen and he moaned. There was such a pressure, it felt so tight it didn't make sense to him. In quieter times he would have feelings of pain and discomfort after stress left his body but it was never as intense. With his internals rebelling, Prowl could do as little as curl into a fetal position face down to the couch. How long has he slept? He was still in Constructicon's hab suite and the mechs can be there at any time to see him vulnerable like this. He tried not to glance up at the sound of the door opening. His thoughts immediately turned into embarrassment. What he feared has happened and his peripheral vision caught Bonecrusher as he stepped into the room and saw him. 

“What's wrong...? Aww scrap!” the ex-con activated laser beam generator and ran to Prowl as quickly as he could “Who shot you?!”

“I'm not hurt, Bonecrusher” Prowl wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. No matter what had happened between them during the combination, what they have seen in his mind, Prowl still felt the need to shelter his feelings and urges from them.

“Show me” he leaned over, placing his hand on Prowl's shoulder.

“No, just want to sleep.” He clutched his belly and massaged it with force to relieve some discomfort when suddenly another cramp struck deep in his gut.

“Boss, did you hear me?” He said again, firmly, when there was no answer, just tightening of the form on the couch.

“Y-yeah.” he managed tentatively when a cramp hit him and his stoic mask slipped just a little and then it clicked back in place because he was well trained at hiding his pain.

“My dear Foreman” Bonecrusher's voice was dark silk “I'm here to help take that pain from you.” This tone, the way Bonecrusher demanded his response, it really got to Prowl.

“I don't want your drugs. It will pass on its own, it always does.” his eyes were blank and looking far away.

“...always?”

He could sense how the Tactician warred with himself, desperately trying to hide something from him and failing.

“It happens to me...when the life calms down. When I...rest. My body catches up with me” he said brokenly.

“I didn't expect you to be this...self aware, Foreman” he replied, standing up straighter.

“Don't mock me, Decepticon”

“...don't give me a hard time, dear Foreman.” said Bonecrusher picking his words carefully. He sounded like warm gravel but did not meet Prowl's optics, instead letting the Autobot stare at his heavy-armored legs making their way to the couch to settle on it. Prowl felt uneasy the way he observed the Constructicon because no one should stare at mechs like that but he couldn't help himself. The Ex-con used that to his advantage and ran his warm, heavy hand over Prowl's still constricted and taunt stomach having not asked for permission to touch but Prowl...didn't squirm away from his hand. The Constructicon put Prowl's legs on his lap and laid his hand hot and still on the affected area again.

“I can sense everything because your plating is thin enough. The knotted cables underneath” said Bonecrusher slowly rubbing the belly “Your T-cog for instance has the right size, no irregularities here but your internals are displaced.”nodding, Bonecrusher continued “Your waste tanks are empty, so that's not the source of your discomfort. Hnn... I can't find your...there it is.”the Bulldozer's visor fixed on Prowl's face as the Ex-con squeezed Prowl's belly harder this time.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, pushing for answers.

“No.”

“For real?” His stare and grip was intense and Prowl's shallow breaths became quicker. The Autobot nodded.

“Mhm... I'm squeezing your interfacing chamber. You sure you can't feel...anything?”

“Just pressure.”

“Just pressure...” Bonecrusher echoed and took his gaze off Prowl to fix it at the wall. His hand still probed Prowl's abdomen, but Prowl noticed its motions were of expert nature, not wandering or groping of any sense. The silence stretched on while Prowl's internals churned making little sick, bubbling sounds, threatening to constrict and bother the Autobot again.

“Alright...the placement of your guts is off, you got them all tangled up and the fluids can't circulate as they should and bent cables don't allow the current to flow. You were right, drugs won't solve the problem. No surgery needed, just some adjustments. I can do them for you, but that's gonna hurt, no more than your cramps do though.” He paused, gauging the Tactician carefully.

Laying down on the couch Prowl got lost in his thoughts until Bonecrusher's voice pulled him out of them. He saw a red visor fixated on him.

“Do whatever you had to do.” He said and his gaze dropped.

“Relax Foreman.”

Prowl snorted.

“Ready?” Bonecrusher positioned himself and Prowl nodded, bracing himself.  
Bonecrusher's linked fingers pressed deep into him causing the Autobot to pant slightly and rock a little. The Constructicon used a bit of his entire body mass to push looking at Prowl at the same time, concentration visible on his face.

“Keep going” muttered Autobot and then the hands left him and his internals gave an unusual sound, he felt something shift, unlock and slot into the right place. He was sore but the upsetting tension was gone and Prowl stared, optics flaring.

“I didn't know you were a healer.” he managed.

“There are things that Constructicons always keep to themselves.” huffed Bonecrusher, smirking with satisfaction. 

“Thank you, Bonecrusher.”

“You're welcome.” There were amusement and smugness that coexisted in Constructicon's expression. “The procedure needs to be repeated from time to time.“ He added, giving him one final, lingering touch. ”Now rest, dear Foreman. I'll fetch some energon for you. You must be low on energy.”

The rest of the day had passed somewhat uneventfully, and Prowl decided to spend it on the couch waiting for Constructicons to invite him to his freshened up quarters, which they did at the end of the day, very proud of themselves because the job was done well. He thanked them and they said it was fun and pleasure to prepare the room for him.   
As the door slid quietly behind him, his room was pristine white and black, smelling fresh but so, so cold and unwelcoming, the bed so large and empty. Just as he had always liked his rooms to be and yet, his thoughts kept darting back to Constructicons' quarters. He laid down on the berth, optics focused on the ceiling, his fingers idly grazing his belly. Slight pain caused by Bonecrusher's fingers was still stinging in him but his gut felt light and comfortable. He let slumber claim him slowly, listening to his insides giving tiny, healthy sounds as they cycled peacefully.

His dreams were always fragmented horrors but this time, for a change, he dreamed of someone buffing a drill with a cloth in hand, a very shiny, short but thick drill, repeating the motion again and again...and again until Prowl's vents closed and mouth started to water. It was then positioned over Prowl's flat lower abdomen only to pierce it agonizingly slow, and then the drill turned inside him eliciting a surprised shout from the Autobot, which subsided into vibrating groans. The Autobot face bore a deep frown as the drilling was becoming maddeningly unforgiving in its pace. In his dream Prowl tossed his head in abandon pinned by the drill, his legs kicking weakly, arms were groping the bed in search for an anchor with no avail.   
Only his lower abdomen was in the correct place, right where the intruder attacked... as it relentlessly hammered with syrupy, molten pleasure. 

If someone entered the room, he would see Prowl contracting without control with his hands pressed to his belly, but this time not in pain.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've just discovered Grammarly and it fills me with great delight.

It was bad. He always set his alarm clock and he would strictly adhere to it. There was no room for lingering in the bed or hitting snooze in his case. That day not only had Prowl managed to sleep through the alarm but he managed to sleep through its blaring for an hour. He finally woke up and he groaned, feeling like he had already exerted his body to the maximum capacity. His head felt large and heavy like it was too big for his neck to support.  


“Switch on the lights,” he said out loud but nothing happened. “Switch on the lights!” he repeated and then he noticed the power was down “Just great...”.  
He checked his datapad and he realized the meeting wasn't rescheduled and he sighed sullenly.  


“I need you to help me open my door” he announced to Mixmaster whom he called over his comm “There's been a brownout.”  


“We will be by your door in a klik. Boss, you can open it manually. On your left there's a hand wheel hidden behind the little door. Try turning it slightly and we will do the rest.”  
Not thinking much, Prowl grabbed the hand wheel which didn't budge at first and began to turn it slowly. He felt resistance and gripped the metal tightly. His joints squeaked sickly and he let out a gasp of pain.

“Prowl?”

“You ok?”

He turned it again. That made a jolt of pain burn in his hands but continued to turn the wheel. A small crevice began to show and the Tactician saw a blur of green and purple behind it. When the opening was wide enough one of them stuck his arm inside.

“No, no no... that's enough, Boss! Scavenger chanted softly, reaching behind the wall and nudging Prowl's hand away from the hand wheel.  
Prowl couldn't pretend to hide how disgruntled he had become with the ease the Constructicon turned the wheel and how unhappy he was with their presence by his door early in the morning. He felt himself reflexively stiffen when Mixmaster and Scavenger pushed past him like it was their room as well. Prowl thought they had no sense of privacy, especially Scavenger to whom social norms were meaningless. The Tactician's hands slipped out Scavenger's ones when the Constructicon attempted to grab him.

”For the love of Primus, how many times have I told you-” Mixmaster scolded Scavenger slapping him ”-not to touch Master Prowl! We apologize, we have not come here to taunt you, Boss. Let me see your hands.” Prowl was thrown off guard by the sight of Mixmaster maskless face. The Chemist's features were cute, almost childlike, heavily contrasting with the bulk of his frame.

“I brought you a thermometer.” said the Chemist handing him a device. When he spoke, he flashed his sharpened teeth and split tongue with a tattoo on it.  
So it appears that Hook won't be putting his fingers awkwardly in Prowl's mouth anymore. The Tactician felt his face getting hot and tried to get that thought out of his head and he looked at their faces. They seemed to be a little worried. Well, that was hardly a surprise.

”Shouldn't you be working on the construction site?” the ex SIC tried changing the subject.

”Yeah, but there's been a brownout. We can't use our power tools” answered Mixmaster gesturing Prowl to show him his hands. ”I'd like to oil your joint's starting from your fingers. You okay with that?” he asked opening a bag that unquestionably wasn't there before. When did they bring it? The Autobot's head was in haze. How could he miss this detail? The first signs of what seemed like an incoming headache began to form behind his optics and he debated inwardly whether he should pop a pill or should he consider different options.

”Right, but... Where is Hook?” the Autobot asked, elegantly giving Mixmaster his right hand.

”In our quarters. He's been... unwell. But he will come if you call him, that's for sure.”

”No, there's no need” Prowl felt flustered though he had no idea why. Although he was proficient in his craft, Hook didn't give off the 'good doctor' vibe. Unlike...

”Is Bonecrusher...with him?” he said cautiously.

”I'm afraid your healer is not there. He stayed with Long Haul to move some rubble around the construction site” replied Mixmaster, coating Prowl's joints with oil. ”Did he do anything inappropriate yesterday? He swore he was on his best behavior.” It was curious that the Chemist was the most pleasant Constructicon to interact with. Especially given that the reports of Prowl's secret intelligence described him as a mech off his rocker.

”No! I mean, yes! Ugh...” answered Prowl too fast and too ardently before he stopped himself ”He's been a great help.” Standing up straighter Prowl gave Constructicons an exasperated look. “My apologies, but my meeting is in 15 minutes. I have to go.” He said stiffly, his irritation turning to the need to leave.

They blinked in confusion. “You want to go to the meeting looking...like this?” Scavenger said poking Prowl's side with his finger.

“What?”

Constructicons fell silent trying to put the message through some delicate wording.

“You look like you didn't wash yourself thoroughly.”

“It shows. Especially on your back.”

The Tactician looked tired and lost when he pulled that scowl on his face. He spent four hours under the shower the day before, but scrubbing himself clean wasn't his priority then.

“Time for a fast makeover. We will be quick.”  
They looked at Prowl questioningly. He nodded begrudgingly, after a long moment of narrowed gaze. Miraculously, Mixmaster began cleaning him, his touches quick and benign.

“It's not a big deal, Boss.” Mixmaster grabbed Prowl's arm and hissed at Scavenger who hurriedly started cleaning it with a sponge “What are you waiting for? He's got a meeting!” A part of him wanted to shove the Cons off him, but to his surprise, he mostly didn't mind it. It's been long since he made bodily contact with another mech and the day before Bonecrusher touched him stirred something inside of Prowl. 

“Scavenger, not like this” berated him Mixmaster “One, two, three, and you're done. Don't linger too much on his doorwings.” They weren't thinking much just moving in a semi-automated way. Prowl bowed his head, allowing better access to his kibble and felt heat rush to his face... There was a nice, large codpiece in front of him. Prowl swallowed turning his gaze away from the view. They were trying to do it as fast and as efficient as it was possible. Prowl was cooperative for once and let them do it without thinking how weird it was. He realized with a blush that a part of him was enjoying it. 

This time awkward silence was his only response they got but Prowl's optics looked pathetically grateful for their care and respect. Silently, he mourned the loss of contact as he headed for the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding some tags for future chapters. Thank you so much for your feedback so far. I hope you won't be too disappointed that it's not gonna be a happy story.


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